Sharpe: The Legacy
by Blackadder VII
Summary: June, 1940; France has been invaded by Nazi Germany. In the Hitler's lust for treasure, the Nazi invaders have set Sharpe's Legacy ablaze and Jason 'Sharpe' Lassan demands revenge.


**Sharpe: The Legacy Prologue******

**Blurb: June, 1940; France has been invaded by Nazi Germany. In the Hitlers lust for treasure, the Nazi invaders have set Sharpe's Legacy ablaze and Jason 'Sharpe' Lassan demands revenge.******

**In writing this fanfiction I have consulted many accounts and histories of the early years of World War 2 in Europe. Any historical inaccuracies in this tale are my own.**

Prologue

A grey morning loomed over Paris in complete opposition to the warmer season. Dark clouds surrounded city which ultimately reflected the atmosphere. Paris was under the heel of an unyielding oppressor. The iron studded jackboots of the Nazi stormtroopers had stomped through the once free city. The citizens had wept and the usual bright atmosphere had become tyrannical. Mist seemed to gather around the iconic Eiffel Tower. There was silence in the early morning gloom, not even bird song could be heard announcing the new day. Most Parisians had come back after the evacuation but few houses were empty. They stood as holly shells; the bones of a dying metropolis.

In a street near the centre of Paris, the silence was broken with the thunder clap of breaking glass.

A man jumped from the second story window of a Cafe, landing in the blue canvas canopy a few feet below. The canopy was only designed to shelter the chairs and tables, so was not equipped to hold the weight of a man. It easily split down the center, causing the man to fall heavily to the ground below. The man got to his feet, brushing glass from his hair and clothes. The man was in his early twenties, dark hair with dangerous brown eyes. The man was very handsome, especially to women when he smiled.

He wore a black leather jacket; the leather was worn and scratched. Brown cargo pants held up by a gun belt with twin holsters. The strange thing about this man was the sword he had strapped to his back. A Napoleonic heavy cavalry saber, polished to look as new as the day it was first forged. The sound of German cries of alarm, chorused in the rising sun.

The man didn't idle, but leapt to his feet and sprinted down the cobbled street. A squad of dark helmeted Nazi stormtroopers appeared from a alleyway. The stormtroopers spotted him, but before they could level there weapons at him; the man pulled out a pair of Colt M1911 pistols often referred to as 'Kongsberg Colt'.

Aiming the pair of Colts at the squad, the man opened fire on the Germans; using the pistols massive recoil to move them in a horizontal sweep which mowed down the group of grey uniformed Wehrmacht soldiers. In rapid fire, the pair of Kongsberg Colts went through 14 rounds in a minute and four soldiers lay dead. The fifth one however was just winged in the shoulder. Having dropped his rifle, the remaining soldier struggled to pull out his Luger from a holster.

The man acting on pure instinct, he holstered one of his Colts and charged at the German soldier. While the nervous Soldier fumbled with his Luger, the man covered the ground between them. Using the one of his colts, he pistol whipped the Luger from the Soldiers hand. Following up it up with a full force left handed cross; the punch knocking the soldier to ground. The Soldiers black domed helmet falling from his head. The man finished off by kicking the soldier in the head, forcing the already stunned soldier into unconsciousness. Holstering the last Kongsberg Colts in one of a pair of hip holsters, the man started to sprint down the alleyway and into the next street.

Running past corner cafes and the beautiful Parisian apartments, the man ran through a archway and into a courtyard. The skin colored buildings fenced the yard and pot plants from several cafes lined the street. The man sprinted towards an alleyway at the other of the courtyard but was cut off by the arrival of a black armored troop carrier. The half truck, half tank; a . 251 was covered in black armor and had half tracks in the place of back tires. The . 251 stopped in the alley, blocking the Man's escape.

Realizing the trap the man turned, but saw that all other routes of escape were blocked by the armored troop carriers. The German troops didn't waste time; they stormed out of the Troop carriers and surrounded the man. Each one of them was brandishing a Maschinenpistole 38 or MP 38 submachine gun. None of them moved an inch, just stared daggers at there cornered victim. The silence was broken by the loud sound of clapping coming from a corner of the courtyard.

A seven foot giant in the black uniform of the Waffen-SS; short military styled blond haired, blue eyes and muscles that rivaled the Superman from Action comics. This man was the nightmare of the Wehrmacht and the scourge of the Jews. Whenever Adolf Hitler needed something that was quite out of his reach, he would send for this behemoth. To the Germans he was known as Hitler's Fist, to his multiple mistresses he was Darling, to Hitler and his entourage his was often referred to as the ' Übermensch'. But to his enemies like this leather jacketed man, he was known by his true name.

Oberführer Burkhard Schäfer.

An ingenious smile was on the tough face, the eyes were colder than Antarctica.  
"Congratulations Mister Sharpe, I applaud your aptitude for escape. You are a credit it to all the Untermensch in France" said Schäfer.  
Schäfer's grin suddenly disappeared and the fake mirth melted off his face.

"But you are beginning to annoy me Sharpe. You know too much about my plan. So I will put an end to your legend Mister Sharpe and make my own" declared Schäfer.  
He pulled a Walther P38 from his belt gun holster.  
"Any fighting words Mister Sharpe, before you die" asked Schäfer?

The man named Sharpe stood his mind racing. He was trapped, surrounded and was about to be murdered by a man he had vowed to kill. If he was going to die, he wanted to take as many Nazi's with him as he could but a nagging sense of denial echoed in the back of his mind. A promise Sharpe had made to some stranded English soldiers to meet them in the Pub for a Pint. A promise he had made to Jack Harper, Ragman and the rest of the Soldiers back in England but it was a promise he might not be able to keep. Sharpe's pair of Kongsberg Colts lacked ammo but he carried another weapon. Sharpe reached over his shoulder and pulled out the Napoleonic Heavy Calvary Sword from the sheath tied to his back. The Wehrmacht soldiers tightened there index fingers on the triggers of there Machine guns but they were disciplined enough not to open fire without a command from the Oberführer.

"The sword of my forefather Schäfer, guaranteed never to fail" shouted Sharpe.  
"We shall see" said Schäfer.  
Schäfer aimed his Walther P38 at Sharpe's head. Sharpe hefted the sword in a threatening position and then BAM! The gun shot echoed through the courtyard, signaling nothing but death.

**Only Beginning**


End file.
